Living dangerously: Diary of an ABS professional, Week 6

In which Mr ABS is deluged with self-help books as Christmas presents.

Christmas is a stressful time for some, but fortunately not for me as I wasn't on cooking duty. As a result, I enjoyed spending some quality time with my family, marred only by their choice of gifts.

My mother-in-law takes her daughter's welfare very seriously and thought that it would be appropriate to give me two books: Moving My Cheese and What Colour Is Your Parachute?

Fortunately, my father-in-law's present went some way to neutralising his wife's choice: a bottle of Armagnac from the year I was born. He got glowered at greatly by the women of the family for providing me with yet more alcohol. However, this did not detract from the exquisite taste of his present, which we were already sipping as we surveyed my mother-in-law opening the wonderful key ring and desk toys that I had thoughtfully gathered for her at the Barcelona conference.

My brother also seemed to think that I need assistance to get back on my feet. He gave me a self-help book entitled The 48 Laws of Power, by Robert Greene. I was reassured to see that he had greater ambitions for me than my mother-in-law.

My wife gave me five tubes of vitamins and, wait for it, more self-help books: The Luck Factor, and Paul McKenna's I Can Make You Rich. I am glad she has not lost hope, but as I read in the FT that the latter is more about giving people the feeling that they're rich than providing secret recipes for getting one's hands on hard cash, I've suggested that she needs to read it more than me.

Now that I have my own self-help library I am well armed to go to interviews, but sadly there don't seem to be any jobs around to interview for. Even rating agencies have started making cuts. I need a job to go back into the circuit of ABS conferences, not least to top up my stock of Christmas gifts for next year.

Being jobless at Christmas also provided the opportunity to reflect on what I really want to do in life. When I was 10 I wanted to be an equity trader. Michael Douglas with his flashy braces made a big impression on me. Aged 14, I wanted to be Samantha Fox's G-string. When I reached 17, I wanted to read medicine, but eventually opted for something else.

Looking back it is rather sad that at no time in my childhood did I consider becoming a fireman. I was more interested in girls than fire engines. I overlooked a noble and useful profession; if only I had known at the time that women find firemen fit.

I would like to thank those of you who have provided some indication of their redundancy packages. Such a disparity of treatment between banks is shocking. It does not sound like a winning interview strategy to enquire upfront about redundancy packages, but next time round I will do some due diligence. At least I would like to think I will, although the reality is that in this market I am more likely to sign up without reading my contract and my next employer is likely to be a low-tier bank.

I would also like to thank the individual who made the interesting suggestion that I should start doing some charitable work to redeem my soul. Having been made redundant without a share of bonus despite a decent P&L, I actually feel as though I have already done my share of charitable work, at least for 2008.